Close To You
by adaptation
Summary: Alternate scene in 2.02, beginning when Lamb enters the interrogation room to find out what Veronica is up to. Veronica ends up getting up to more than she intended.  PWP, minors, etc


**Title:** Close To You  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 5 358  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Alternate scene in 2.02, beginning when Lamb enters the interrogation room to find out what Veronica is up to. Veronica ends up getting up to more than she intended.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own nothing. Nothing, I say!  
><strong>Notes:<strong> This is my first VM fic, so… that's my excuse if you think it sucks. :P

IT HAD WORKED like a charm. Sometimes even Veronica herself was surprised at the ease with which she could worm her way into restricted areas, or places she needed to be to get trickier aspects of her job done. But here she was, sitting in an otherwise empty interrogation room in the Neptune Sheriff's Department with the phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder, pretending to be Deputy Ann Shaughnessy, who, though she'd never met personally, she was sure was a very nice person.

"I need a number and an address for a call placed last Wednesday between 4:15 and 4:30 PM." Was it this easy for every juvenile spy who wandered in here looking to get classified information? It wasn't as if her reasons for doing so were entirely illicit, but Lamb definitely wouldn't approve – largely because she was doing his job for him. Again. But she wouldn't have to if he'd start doing it himself.

The extremely helpful person on the other end of the line rattled off the correct information after some keyboard-tapping as they searched their database, and the small blonde scribbled down the information. "I got it, thanks," she offered by way of goodbye, and barely managed to get the phone back in the cradle before the door swung open. She finished writing the address, her eyes shifting carefully up to watch Lamb as he entered the room.

He took a few steps into the interrogation room, eyeing her warily, and she slipped her notebook off the table, maneuvering it behind her and into her bag in what she hoped was a subtle manner. The stare he leveled at her caused a ghost of a smirk to flicker over her lips, betraying her amusement at how jumpy she could make him.

"What are you up to, Veronica?"

She straightened, shifting her pen-holding hand over the application on the table. "The last question, actually," she responded easily. "_Why do you want this position?_" His eyebrow quirked slightly, giving away his curiosity as to her point. "Honestly – and really tell me the truth." Pause for suspense. "How much of an ass-kiss would I be if I admit it's to be close to you?"

The blonde watched, eyes widened with feigned curiosity as Lamb's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly and he walked around the table toward her. His arm reached around her to grab hold of the chair she was on, almost brushing her skin, and her body stiffened automatically at the proximity, and she swore for a moment that he hesitated too. He wasn't even that close to her, it was just an involuntary reaction. She couldn't control it, and she hoped to hell he hadn't noticed.

The dark-haired man gave a yank on the chair, pulling it out from under her at the precise moment she stood up, shouldering her bag as she did so. Veronica carefully slipped between him and the table, making her way toward the door. But she couldn't leave it at that. It was too open-ended. She needed to throw one more stupid joke his way, if only to alleviate the tension that she was probably imagining.

"Seriously," she threw over her shoulder, "why _do_ birds suddenly appear every time you're near?"

HE WAS BEHIND her, so he couldn't have caught the naughty smirk on her face he imagined she made as she made her way to the door he'd carelessly left open on his way in. Don cursed himself mentally as he watched the petite blonde girl move around the desk and begin to exit, untouched application in hand. His eyes traveled over her body as she moved, thankful that she couldn't see it when his baby blues lingered on her ass.

God, the ways he'd fantasized about that ass. He must have been one sick son-of-a-bitch. He was thirty-three years old, and she was, what, seventeen? Maybe eighteen, if he was lucky? It was damn near cradle-robbing to even consider her a sexual being, but for weeks on end he'd been eyeing her in a way he had no right to. For months now, he'd been waking up, bed sheets drenched in his cold sweat, with a raging hard on testifying to just how intensely he'd been dreaming about Veronica, in many, many different ways. On his desk. In his patrol car. Against the locker at her school. It really didn't matter as long as wound up inside of her.

He jerked himself out of that extremely dangerous train of thought, his breath catching in his throat in a barely-suppressed groan as he became distinctly aware of the erection pressing insistently against his fly. Dammit. He couldn't go back to work like this. He was the boss – how unprofessional would it look if he were to take a second lunch break and skip home to whip one off?

She was almost out the door. All he had to do was wait thirty seconds and she'd be out of the building. His day would go back to its normal boring routine, and he could finish filling out the stack of paperwork on Ed Doyle that was perched precariously on his desk. But that's exactly how he'd been handling every encounter he had with Veronica Mars, and his desire for her hadn't yet waned, as he'd expected it to. The longer he tried to pretend he didn't want to fuck her every which way he knew how, the more predominant the image of her squirming on his silk sheets, naked, wanton, begging for his touch became in his mind. It was becoming increasingly clear that the only way to get her out of his system was to do the very thing he'd been forcing himself not to even consider since the moment he'd found her sitting in this interrogation room.

Before he could even register that he'd moved, his hand was flat against the door, slamming it shut, while his other hand curved around her upper arm and jerked her away from the doorway. He pressed her back hard against the wall, ignoring the outraged flash in her eyes, and the pouty confusion on her lips. A quick check to make sure the blinds were down on the window, a swift click of the lock on the door and he was staring intensely down at her, his jaw taught with barely-restrained sexual frustration.

She glared up at him, but the glower couldn't hide the flicker of curiosity in her sky blue eyes. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked bluntly. Lamb barely even recognized that she'd spoken, though his eyes were on her lips. He gave a half-smile when Veronica pulled her arm out of his grasp so sharply that her elbow smacked into the wall behind her and she whimpered.

He could make her whimper like that. But for an entirely different reason.

SHE WAITED FOR an answer, but none seemed forthcoming. He waited so long to respond that she actually didn't think he was going to. Her glare melted into an expression of mild confusion as the silence stretched out. Her brow furrowed slightly as she watched his eyes flicker over her face, down her neck, and linger on the pulse point in her throat. He was looking at her so… heatedly. It was unexpected, and she didn't know how to handle it. How was she to respond when the man she despised so much looked at her as though she were an ice cream cone and it was a hot July day?

She didn't respond like an ice cream cone. She responded like Veronica Mars.

"Didja forget to take your Maalox again, Deputy?"

"Shut up, Veronica," he whispered harshly, grabbing her by the shoulders with both hands and jerking her forward before she could even comprehend the movement. And then, without any warning at all, his lips were on hers, insistent and hot, slanting over her mouth and forcing it open. Forcing, yes, but in a way that made her wonder if she hadn't complied unconsciously. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip. His tongue swept through the heated interior of her mouth, dragging over the roof and drawing out just as she began to lean into the kiss.

He pulled back just enough to break the kiss, his head dropping forward over her shoulder so he could nuzzle her neck with his nose. Her breathing was choppy, and now her head was clogged with the taste of him. She should be pulling away. She should be telling him to keep his tongue to himself. She should be storming out to later use this against him. But here she was, standing perfectly still, neither encouraging him or denying him. Which, in itself, was probably encouraging him.

For a few tense beats, the only sound was that of their breathing. His breath was hot against her neck, tickling the tender skin, and she closed her eyes.

She'd been kissed before. She'd been kissed _well_ before. She'd been kissed thoroughly, and passionately, and hard, soft, and any other adjective you could name. But no kiss had stunned her so completely. No kiss had actually managed to, by itself, dampen her panties. Veronica had never imagined that a mere kiss could do that, and she certainly never imagined that if one did, it would be administered by Don Lamb.

"You haven't left yet." She felt more than heard his words as they reverberated off of her skin, his thumb beginning to move in slow circles on her material-covered shoulder. His hand slipped down her arm, tracing the line of it until it skimmed over to rest on her ribcage just below her breast. Her eyes flickered open as she felt his moist lips close on her neck.

"I'm trying to figure out how you could have lived for so long without learning to kiss properly." The answer was automatic. It left her lips before she even realized she'd said it, but she still felt him smile against her skin. "Let me go."

"You want me," he teased, his tone sing-song as his hand slipped up over the curve of her breast. She pretended not to notice when his thumb brushed over her nipple through her shirt and bra, but the slight hitch in her breathing gave her away.

"Like I want leprosy."

She should move. She should shove him back. Maybe slap him for good measure. She knew she should, but she couldn't. She was too curious. Curious as to his motives. And, although she'd poke her own eye out before she admitted it, curious as to what else he could do with his tongue.

He pulled his lips away from her neck, looking down into her eyes. The smirk on his lips begged her to wipe it away with her knuckles, but, disturbingly enough, she would rather have used her mouth.

Oh God. She was in trouble.

"You must have some pretty kinky fetishes, Veronica Mars."

She tilted her head back, raising her jaw defiantly, a flash of intrigued disgust striking through her eyes. "You're vulgar." She said it like an insult, but the low chuckle he gave suggested he took it as a compliment.

"Yeah. And it's turning you on, isn't it?"

She didn't respond, and Lamb must have taken it as encouragement, because his fingers lifted to her shoulder, pushing the strap of her bag away. It dropped to the floor, forgotten, and then her white button-up was gone too, slid down her arms to wisp softly to the ground. His fingertips lowered to the hem of her printed green tee, slipping under the hem to dance lightly along the pale skin of her stomach. It tickled a bit, just enough for her breath to catch in her throat, and a self-satisfied smirk flickered over his lips before he lifted the shirt up and over her head. It fell to the floor, as forgotten as the bag.

Veronica was standing there, in front of Don Lamb, wearing her pants, and her bra. She set her jaw, attempting to look as though she weren't as exposed as she felt, and glared at him when she caught the amused glint in his eye. What a prick. She despised him, and yet, here she was, standing half-clad while he eyed her.

"Give me back my shirt."

She could easily have picked it up on her own, but if she moved, she'd inadvertently touch him. He was seeing to it that she had very little personal space, and if she told him to step back, he'd know that he was affecting her. As if he couldn't tell already.

"No."

A response was on the tip of her tongue, but whatever witty comment she'd planned on making flew out of her mind when his fingers slipped passed the hem of her cargo pants, the pad of his thumb nudging the button through the hole. Her eyes widened slightly, his rough handling of her pants jerking her slightly away from the wall. His eyes were focused intently on her zipper, which he yanked open to reveal her black cotton panties.

He stared for a moment, his thumb moving in slow circles over her hip bone, and then his lips were on hers again. She didn't have time to think about responding. It wasn't a conscious choice when her mouth opened to his tongue, or when her arm slipped over his shoulder, her fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. She kissed him back as heatedly as she could manage, moaning softly into his mouth when his fingers slipped from her hip bone around to her ass, pulling her flush against him so that she could fully feel the delicious pressure of his restrained erection pressing into her belly.

This was insanity. It couldn't be happening. She was not actually here, making out with Don Lamb as he felt her up. But it had to be real. She could feel his thick hair in her grasp, his utility belt pushing uncomfortably against her, and his fingertips digging into her bottom. No dream could feel this real.

She pulled away from the kiss, but only managed to separate them by a few centimeters.

"I'm not having sex with you," the blonde told him, more than a little proud at the insistent tone she used, although it was a little too breathy.

"_Yet_," he countered, capturing her lips again.

He had a point. For someone who wasn't going to have sex with him, she was getting awfully close.

Her head fell back against the wall of the interrogation room, baring her neck to him, and he took the silently-offered opportunity, his tongue grazing down the column of her throat to lave the curve where her neck met her shoulder. He dragged his teeth over the glistening skin, and she sighed gently.

Veronica lifted her right hand, intending to push him back with it, but when her palm met his shoulder, her fingers wrapped around it, pulling him closer instead. It was like her body had a mind of its own. Her brain commanded her to stop, but her body desperately wanted to have him inside her.

She hadn't really been with anybody. Of course, she wasn't counting the night she and Duncan… It didn't count if she couldn't remember it. That was the way she was looking at it. But Lamb… He was a disgusting, immoral, incompetent asshole. With a completely chiseled body, and a hard on that promised she would _definitely_ remember this.

His hand slipped beneath her panties so he could knead her bare ass, but quickly slipped around to her front to delve between her legs. Her body stiffened as his fingers passed her damp curls, gently skimming over the moist lips of her sex. The side of his index finger gave a quick flicker over her clitoris and she gasped noisily, her vision flashing white for a moment.

"Your little boyfriend ever get you this hot?" His voice was low with desire, and it took her a minute to process that he'd said anything. When she did, she stopped breathing altogether.

Oh God. Duncan. What was she doing? She was with Duncan!

Panic set in, and she used the hand on his shoulder to try to push him away, but it was like trying to move a brick wall. A brick wall that had its very skilled hand down your panties. Her head fell back again, and she whimpered, but even Veronica couldn't tell whether it was a result of frustration or his fingertips rubbing against the sensitive bundle of nerves at her vertex.

"I said 'no'," she insisted, forcing her eyes open, although she hadn't realized she'd closed them. She met his gaze, determination setting her jaw. Determination to make him stop? Maybe. Determination not to groan? Definitely.

His response was an irritatingly insolent, "Yeah, so?"

She hesitated before letting loose her comeback.

"This is rape."

The sheriff's eyebrow quirked upward slightly, giving away his amusement at her protest. He held her defiant gaze, his finger working down to dip into her. Her breathing faltered as she squeaked softly, and a crookedly smug smile worked its way to his face.

"You can't rape the willing, Mars."

Damn him.

"I'm not willing."

He shook his head, chuckling, and then dipped his head close to hers, positioning his lips a breath away from her own. Hers parted expectantly, but he didn't try to kiss her. Not this time.

"Then why are you so wet?"

HE LOVED THE glint that flashed through her eyes at his comment. It was an intriguing mixture of irritation and lust, and it made him want to fuck her that much more. And here, he hadn't thought it possible.

She didn't respond, and just knowing that he had the power to render her speechless was enough to take his mind off the throbbing in his cock. … Okay, so that was a dirty lie. There was nothing in the world that would divert his attention from the task at literal hand. He was going to fuck Veronica Mars, and she was damn well going to like it.

This was going to his head. His ego was swelling almost as much as his erection, the way he was making her whimper, moan, and gasp. He'd wanted this for so long, and he couldn't have imagined her reacting in a better way unless she were to cover herself in Cool Whip and present herself on a silver platter. But this… He preferred this. This was much more in character for her. He wanted her to resist, to pretend she didn't want him, and then he wanted to drive all that defiance out of her head with the things he could do to her.

Mentioning the Kane boy had been a dumb ass move on his part, but at least he'd been able to distract her. He wasn't asking her to have an affair with him. He wasn't _asking_ her to do anything. He just wanted to fuck her, once, just to get it out of his system. Then he'd be able to move on with his life, and neither of them would ever mention it again. Duncan would never have to know. What the fuck did he care if she went skipping back off to her boyfriend and whatever incompetent fumbling he treated her to? This was a one-time fuck, plain and simple.

Don kissed her again, plundering her mouth as he slid his middle finger as far into her as the awkward angle would allow. Her panties rubbed uncomfortably against the back of his hand, but he hadn't worked her up enough to stop yet. His thumb worked her clit, rubbing in circles and alternating the pressure as his finger pumped her. She was so hot, so tight. She couldn't have been fucking Kane regularly. Maybe the poor kid couldn't get it up.

But, damn, who couldn't get it up for Veronica Mars?

He felt her tug at the radio he had clipped to his shoulder, and it fell away, clattering to the floor. For the sake of consistency, he tugged the pack off his belt and let it fall too, not caring if it broke. He'd get a new one. It was worth it.

She pulled away from his mouth, and his eyes lowered to her lips, bruised and moist from his kisses. For a moment, he thought she was going to protest again, but then she just reached up to his tie and started to loosen it, pulling it over his head and dropping it away.

He met her eyes again, and stopped his movements, for the moment forgetting that he had his finger inside her. Something had changed. He could see it in her eyes. She wasn't just going along with it now, she was a completely willing participant. Sometime in the sixty seconds since he'd brought up her boyfriend, she'd decided that maybe letting him fuck her through the interrogation room table wasn't such a bad idea.

He wondered what had brought on this change, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He was about to resume his movements when her fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his hand out from between her thighs.

Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe she _had_ decided to stop him.

But all thoughts of stopping fled his mind when she lifted his finger to her mouth. She slipped the tip of it passed her pliant lips, all the way down to the knuckle, her tongue bathing it, cleaning his digit of her juices. His lips parted in surprise, and he would have come in his pants at that exact moment if he hadn't had incredible self-control.

"Jesus Chris, Veronica," he cursed, and a ghost of a smile passed over her mouth. She gave a half-shrug, dropping his hand.

"Take off your shirt."

Her hands reached behind her back, presumably for the clasp of her bra, and he watched stupidly as the elastics loosened. She started to pull it off, but stopped when she noticed him staring silently at her.

"You wanna fuck me, or not? Take off your shirt," she commanded, and he couldn't help but smile as his fingers lifted to the top button on his uniform. He worked button after button through their holes, but his eyes never left her as she dropped her bra to the floor, revealing pert, bouncy breasts with pebbled pink nipples. He longed to tweak them, to take them in his mouth, but he was going to finish unbuttoning his stupid shirt. He would not make a desperate grab for her chest like a horny teenage boy.

He untucked the shirt, finished unbuttoning it as her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her pants, shoving them, as well as her panties, down over her hips. She bent as they passed her knees, straightened when she stepped out of them, leaving her standing completely stark naked in front of him. His mouth went dry at the sight of her. Miles and miles of pure, unblemished skin, waiting for his touch. Begging for it.

Lamb barely registered the flicker of uncertainty on her face. He was far too distracted by the rest of her. He cursed softly under his breath, and she must have taken it as encouragement, because she reached for his belt, unbuckling it and shoving it out of the way so she could work at the clasp of his pants. A few good tugs and his khakis fell quickly to the floor under the weight of holster and other work-related knick-knacks. His boxers were tented, the flimsy material easily molded by his prominent erection.

She hesitated for a couple of beats before she reached for the elastic waist of his boxers, pushing them much more slowly down than he could have managed. Inch by inch, she released him, and when his boxers fell away, leaving him standing in his open shirt, he swore she stopped breathing. Her glittering eyes locked onto his cock and his pulse skipped a beat when she tentatively reached for it.

Her small hand wrapped around him, beginning to slowly stroke his shaft. He let her get comfortable with the motion, but after a few pumps, he grabbed her by the hips, pulling her hard against him and slipping his hands up to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, skimming his nails gently over the peaks. Then he lowered his head, closing his lips around one of the hardened pink crests.

She cried out for the first time since he'd started touching her however long ago, and his cock jumped at the sound. God, she was sexy. How did Kane not have her handcuffed to the bed day and night?

At the thought of her in cuffs, Don pulled back, quickly pushing her around and bending her over the wooden table. Her hands landed flat on the surface with a soft smack, and she started to push up, but his hand landed between her shoulder blades, pinning her down.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she snapped, though he highly doubted she was anything but turned on by his action.

He took himself in his hand, directing his tip between her legs, and rubbing his head over her dripping center. "I think you know what I'm doing, Veronica," he said quietly. She started to squirm back against him, trying to maneuver him inside of her, but he reached up and grabbed a handful of her blonde hair, yanking it back. She yelped.

"What the f-"

"Shut up." He grinned, although she couldn't see it, and dragged the head of his cock over her clit. She moaned throatily. "Tell me what you want." He wanted to hear her say it. He wanted her to beg for it. He wanted her to need this as badly as he did.

"What?"

"You heard me, Veronica."

"Are you kidding?"

"Not remotely."

He dipped into her, just an inch, and then pulled back out, hearing her whimper at the loss.

"I want you to fuck me." Her voice was raspy when she said it, heavy with prurience.

"Say please." His free hand slipped over the pale globe of her ass, squeezing the tight flesh.

"No," she objected automatically, as he'd known she would.

"Say it."

"I have the right to remain silent," she said snarkily, and he rolled his eyes. Now was _so_ not the time for her wit.

"Not if you want me inside you, you don't." He dragged the length of his shaft over her wet folds to show her who was boss.

"Oh God," the blonde moaned, her forehead dropping to the table as her breathing laboured. "Come _on_."

"Say –"

"Please! Please, Lamb, fuck me," she begged, and he didn't hesitate, thrusting all the way into her in one fluid motion. When he was firmly planted inside her, he stopped, letting her adjust to his size as well as savouring the feel.

"Oh fuck," he moaned, his hands landing on her hips to steady his movements.

He pulled slowly out and then pushed back into her, their skin slapping gently together. She breathed a soft curse, but he didn't catch exactly which one she'd uttered. He picked up the pace, pumping into her with a gradual increase in speed that had them both gasping for breath. His fingertips dug into her skin, leaving red marks as he grasped at her, now driving into her hard enough for her thighs to bruise from banging into the table.

The noises she was making… There was no way she could realize how fucking sexy that was, the throaty little moans and gasps and the muttering of expletives, and occasionally even his name.

His forehead was damp with sweat, his blood thumping noisily in his ears as he fucked her. She squeezed him tightly, her palms slipping over the table she was pressed against. She rocked back against him, meeting his thrusts with her hips, the angle of their positioning causing her to whimper with every completed delve into her. He was no virgin. He knew what he was doing to her, exactly where he was hitting inside of her, and he could tell from the way she was clenching warningly around him that she was almost as close as he was.

A few more thrusts and he was a goner. He planted fully into her one last time, spilling his hot fluids into her willing body as he collapsed over her back. One of his hands reached up, pushing some blonde strands, damp with perspiration, out of the way so he could kiss her neck.

When he felt his cock softening inside of her, he pulled out, and she started to straighten, but he pressed her down again.

"Don't."

"But you're –"

"Not done," he interrupted. "You're not done, I'm not done."

He dropped to his knees behind her, his hands rubbing slowly over her ass. He let the fingers of his right hand slip between her legs, his fingers trailing down over her entrance, delving in slightly, before lowering to her clit. He began to work it again, applying a gentle but insistent pressure, and he watched for a moment before pressing his mouth against her opening.

His lips parted, his tongue bathing her, and then slipping inside. He licked at her, flicking the tip of his tongue into her as her rubbed her button. As worked up as she'd been before he'd started this new activity, it didn't take long for her body to begin to stiffen. He quickened his movements, loving the taste of her – like warm mango and cream – and when she came, shuddering, she gushed into his mouth. He lapped up every last drop of her, and only when her spasms had died away did he stand, pulling his pants and boxers back up.

He zipped up, re-buttoned his shirt, and glanced over at the blonde girl now recovering on the table. He thought briefly about saying something, if only to end the pregnant silence between them, but then decided against it. She wouldn't want him to say anything. There was nothing to say. So, instead, he finished redressing, and exited the interrogation room, leaving her to dress in peace.

WHEN DUNCAN ROLLED off of her later that evening, Veronica breathed deeply, letting her eyes flutter closed. Well. That had been an interesting experience. If by 'interesting', you meant 'completely unsatisfying'. But what had she been expecting? As far as she knew, the only other experience Duncan had involved her being completely drugged. He was young, and new at this. As new at this as she was. He wasn't… He wasn't Lamb.

"Veronica?"

She looked over at him quickly, a shot of guilt striking through her at her thoughts. She loved Duncan. He loved her. That counted a lot more than orgasms.

"Hmm?"

"Was it okay?" His brow was furrowed with worry, and she smiled to ease his worries, rolling into him to cuddle up against him.

"It was great." For all thirty seconds.

There was a pause, but he seemed relatively comforted by her assurance, and gently rubbed circles on her bared shoulder.

"What are you thinking?" he asked after a moment, his voice coloured in a mock-feminine tone.

That, if he were Neptune's Sheriff, she wouldn't be laying here experiencing this unfulfilled feeling. That maybe she should give him some reading material to bulk up on. That she needed to shower. That she'd like to shower with Lamb.

"You know," she responded, her voice deepened to her feigned male voice, "I was trying to remember the over-under on the Ohio State-Texas game." He laughed. But something in his eyes told her he didn't quite believe her attempt at easy-going pillow talk. He knew something was up.

But, if he'd had to guess, there was no way he could have come up with the right answer. There was no way he could tell she'd been fucked by the sheriff.

Not a chance.


End file.
